


Starry Eyes and Galaxy Minds

by occasionally_always



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Internalized Homophobia, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, but the song isn't related to the story, the last three are only mentioned, title is from the song freckles and constellations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22766104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasionally_always/pseuds/occasionally_always
Summary: Thomas is seven years old, and Curiosity is bursting with emotion.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	Starry Eyes and Galaxy Minds

**Author's Note:**

> So this started with an idea: what if Logan is actually the most emotional side?  
> I honestly wish this had a lot more to it-- the story doesn't feel full. The room lore and how it connects isn't complete, and Logan's relationships with the others aren't either. There's so much I could add to this. But I don't know if that will happen, so here's the story as it is now.

Thomas was seven years old, and Curiosity was bursting with emotion. He waved his arms frantically as he chattered; words weren’t enough to express his complete astonishment. “And it’s so  _ big  _ and  _ empty _ , even though there’s like trillions of stars! Like I don’t  _ understand _ how it can be so empty with so many things in it, I mean, it’s gotta be  _ really _ big for that to-- to-- and there are planets, too, all around the stars, like, um, and, yeah! Like, there’s one hundred  _ billion _ stars only in our galaxy! Wait, how many  _ galaxies _ are there--”

He scrambled for his iPad as Morality watched on in total bemusement. There were a few minutes of silence before Morality prompted him-- “So how many galazies?”

“Hm? Oh, well, we only know about a hundred billion of them but there’s more.” Curiosity’s eyes never left the screen, fingers tapping frantically. “Cause our telescopes aren’t real advanced yet, but the universe is, like, endless, like there’s no walls around it or anything and I don’t even know how that’s  _ possible _ but it is! And we’re just a really tiny speck in the middle of it! Well, not the middle, because there’s no middle, because it’s endless.” His words came out faster and faster, tripping over themselves.

“Breathe,” advised Morality; “Why aren’t you breathing? Maybe you should go do somethin’ else.” He looked rather worried about the fact that Curiosity was hyperventilating.

Curiosity tried to slow down his mind enough to consider this development.  _ Breathe _ , he thought. But galaxies kept swirling around in his head, and that made them swirl on his walls, too(they were covered in stars just like the universe was-- they had transformed when he first became fascinated with space), and the article about the Hubble space telescope in his fingers wouldn’t let him look away. Morality clambered onto the bed beside him and tried to read it too, but flopped backwards a few seconds later with a sigh. “Too many words,” he mumbled. Curiosity didn’t even notice when he left; he just kept reading, flashing between different sites and queries, heart thrumming and mind racing. He felt overwhelmed, but at the same time he couldn’t stop; awe crashed over him every time he read something new, and no matter how many new things he learned, he felt hungry for more.

It was quite a while before he realized Morality had left. His eyes kept closing without his permission, and he yawned every few seconds. He reluctantly set down his iPad and curled up in bed.

But he couldn’t stop thinking; his curiosity didn’t go away. As physically tired as he was, and as much as he  _ wanted _ to fall asleep, his brain wouldn’t let him. Questions about the universe whirled in his mind, tugging at him even when he tugged a pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes so tightly shut it hurt. And even then, that didn’t block out the light from the galaxies on his walls, reflecting his overwhelming emotions brightly. Eventually he dragged himself out of bed, and with a glance back at his own room and its bright, starry walls, to Morality’s room, only hesitating a moment before knocking on the pale blue door. Morality always made him feel calmer.

“Can I sleep wi--”

Morality didn’t wait for him to finish before dragging him inside, face lit up with a smile. “Ohmygosh, it’s like a sleebover! Hi! Are you still reading about stars an’ stuff? Can I wake you up when I wake up? Which side of the bed do you want?”

Curiosity blinked at him. “Um. The right side.”

Morality was seemingly not deterred by the low-energy response. “Okie-dokie! Aww, is that your bear? He’s so cute! Hey, look, I have a poster about space! Do you like it?”

Curiosity clutched the aforementioned teddy bear tighter as he climbed onto the bed, taking up as little space as possible. He tried to make his eyes focus on the poster; it was one of many littering Morality’s room, all terribly, cheesily “inspirational.” This particular one read, “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” It had a big, smiling star in the center of it. Curiosity frowned.   
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Morality blinked owlishly at him, still smiling.

“The moon is much closer to Earth than the stars are.”

“So?”

Frustration started to creep into Curiosity’s voice. “So it doesn’t make sense!”

“I don’t get it,” Morality said doubtfully. His smile was getting smaller.

“How can you not make it to the moon but make it somewhere even farther away?”

They were both frowning now. Morality’s lip started to quiver. Curiosity’s hands clenched into fists.

“And you can’t  _ land _ on a star, you’d just burn right up!”

“It just was pretty,” Morality suddenly wailed. Curiosity froze. “And I-I thought you’d like it ‘cause of stars! Why do you gotta be like this?”

Curiosity bit his tongue, hard. Now he had made Morality cry.  _ Why  _ am _ I like this? _ he thought. But he still felt angry. Maybe Morality was the problem. That was probably it. He turned away, lying down, and closed his eyes. Eventually Morality stopped sniffling and turned the light out, flopping into bed beside him.

Now he just felt guilty. He clutched his bear tighter. The guilt came in waves, and it  _ hurt _ .

He didn’t fall asleep the whole night.

In the morning, he kept his eyes shut as Morality stirred beside him. He waited until the other side had gotten out of bed to sit up himself.   
“I am sorry,” he said, making his voice as emotionless as possible so that none of the overwhelming guilt or residual anger came through. Morality didn’t deserve that.

“It’s okay,” Morality said, with a small smile. “Hey, wanna make pancakes together?”

Curiosity gave his room a longing glance. His iPad was there; he could keep looking up information about space. His curiosity pulled at him, strong as ever. But then he remembered that it was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Maybe he needed to start ignoring it.

“Okay,” he said, and forced the part of his mind that had kept him curious, that had allowed him to be so amazed at every new thing he learned, that had gotten him upset at Morality, to be just a little bit quieter.

***

Thomas was fourteen, and Curiosity was simmering with emotion. He felt so  _ angry _ . Why did they have to be different?! Why couldn’t Thomas just like girls, like all of his other friends?

He desperately wanted to do research. Maybe other people felt like this, too. But the more kids at school talked about the girls they liked and what they wanted to do with them, and the more worried the other sides looked, the more he knew it would be better to just make whatever was happening go away.

He lay in his room one night, thinking about it, staring blankly at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. (They had no real reason to be there, seeing as the very walls of the room shifted with nebulas-- the mindscape didn’t like to obey real-world rules-- but Morality had stuck them up for his birthday one year and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to take them down.)

He was worried. Thomas kept sneaking glances at his friend Josh, and getting butterflies whenever Josh spoke to him. It was getting to be a problem. This couldn’t be what a crush was, right? It had to be a mistake. He had to stop it.

The problem was, the urge to get closer to Josh was strong. He could feel it, too. It made the lights in his room glow brighter. He couldn’t help it-- he was curious. What would kissing Josh be like? What if they even just held hands? What were all the possible outcomes of Thomas maybe, just maybe,  _ telling _ Josh?   
There was a knock at his door.

“The others wouldn’t listen to me,” Deceit said when he opened it. “We need to do something. We need this to not be happening.”

Curiosity shoved down his emotions, which were swirling as much as the stars on his walls. He nodded.

They made a plan, to weave a lie--  _ You like girls. Josh is a friend _ \-- tightly enough that even Thomas believed it. They stayed up late to edge into the Subconscious, standing in the chilly fog of nothingness as Deceit spoke the lie into it, as though it were truth. Maybe they could even make it truth, Curiosity thought. He tried to believe it, too. Thomas needed as much help from within as they could give him.

So whenever those emotions stirred, he pushed them right back down.

***

Thomas was nineteen, and Curiosity was grappling with emotion. He paced his room, from one wall to another, back and forth, faster and faster.

Morality and Creativity had chosen names for themselves-- Morality was Patton now, and Creativity was-- well, it was complicated, but stuff had happened, and now he was two sides, Roman and Remus. Patton kept asking Curiosity what he wanted his name to be. “You can’t just keep calling yourself Curiosity!” he would say.

_ But it’s the only thing I know to be _ .

He had tossed around names in his head, plays on the word, like Rio, but nothing fit right.

And now he kept thinking-- what if the problem was what he was? What if he wasn’t Curiosity at all? What if that was why nothing fit?

How could he choose a name for himself if he didn’t even know who he was?

He didn’t see why he had too, anyway. Deceit didn’t have a name, or Paranoia. (At least, he didn’t think so-- they didn’t actually leave their part of the mindscape a lot, so he didn’t really have many chances to talk to them.) But the issue felt bigger, now, more fundamental.

The stars on his walls dimmed, til they were as faint as the aged plastic ones on the ceiling. He groaned and leaned against the wall. The problem was him, he knew it was.

Because however much he took in knowledge, however much he observed everything around him, the awe wasn’t there any more, the  _ curiosity _ wasn’t there.

It scared him. It scared him, and yet it relieved him. He had worked hard to shove those things down. To quiet the noise of his mind, of his emotions. He could go to sleep at night now without his curiosity keeping him up. He could go through a day without ever getting frustrated. He could learn new things without getting overwhelmed. It was so, so quiet. So peaceful.

_ So _ quiet.

He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

All of the other sides were more sure of themselves than ever. Roman and Remus had more distinct roles now that they had split. Patton directly influenced Thomas’s decisions based on his own firm moral code. Deceit couldn’t even talk in truths any more (which, well, might or might not have been a negative effect of lying to their collective self about Thomas’s sexuality for so many years. But Curiosity had learned to shove down  _ that _ guilt, too).

He walked slowly to the small mirror on one side of his room. He stared at himself, a reverse image. “I am Curiosity,” he said, a bitter taste in his mouth.

He didn’t believe himself. He couldn’t even take himself seriously.

The emotions were crowding his mind, tugging his thoughts this way and that-- stress about making such a decision, anger at himself for not knowing what to do, regret at every single year he had spent trying to reshape himself in the first place.  _ You have to accept it now, though. You’re different _ .

He  _ forced _ the emotions to quiet. Every ounce of his energy went frantically into holding off the onslaught. If only he could have a moment without the overwhelming emotions, to think rationally, logically about this.

If only that moment could last every day.

“I am logical,” he ordered his reflection. Ordered himself. He set his mouth in a straight line. “Logic.” To cry would be to give in to the emotions, and he simply didn’t have the energy to face them right now, so he forced the tears back. “I am logic.”

The stars on his walls dimmed even further.

***

Thomas was in his twenties, and Logic had no emotions.

Deceit stopped by one night, shortly after he had appeared to Thomas for the first time. “That went  _ so _ well,” he said, and Logan raised his eyebrow at the lie.

“Was that not the impression you intended to make?”

Deceit shrugged. “I’m so  _ not _ confused about how you ‘Light’ sides work. You  _ don’t _ have a really weird thing going on with Thomas.”

“We have a system,” Logan said primly.

“Hey, you  _ didn’t _ used to have stars in here,” Deceit said, looking around.

Logan sighed at the consistent topic avoidance. “Yes, well. Things change.”  _ I change _ . “Did you actually have a purpose in coming here, or was it just to complain before talking about insignificant observations?”

Deceit rolled his eyes and went to open the door. Logan did not feel guilty, or lonely. He watched with a blank expression as the other side stepped into the hall.   
“Good bye, Deceit,” he said.

“Good bye,  _ Logic _ .”

When Deceit spoke, the lie was always easy to find.

The door to the room clicked shut.

The side inside the room forced himself to stay emotionless.

The walls of the room remained dark.

  
  



End file.
